Magistrate's Burden
by Mislagnissa
Summary: The Colonial Magistrate tries desperately to protect Mar Sara, but his foes are many. The Zerg try to eat everyone. Admiral Stukov gives humanitarian aid. Arcturus Mengsk tries to form his evil empire. Executor Tassadar tries to shed his reputation as a genocidal maniac. General Duke is a pain in the ass.


**Copyright credits:** _StarCraft_ is copyright Activision Blizzard. Some text has been reproduced and/or altered from the _StarCraft_ script, the _Brood War_ script, and the short story "Revelations," written by Chris Metzen and James Phinney.

**Trigger warning:** The protagonist is a Confederate loyalist. The Koprulu Confederacy is loosely styled after the historical American Confederacy, so depicting it positively may be upsetting for some readers. I want to make it clear that I do not support any "Lost Cause" narratives. I just like space cowboys.

**Technical limitations:** Trying to replicate an accent in writing is difficult and potentially insulting. While reading this, please imagine that all Confederate characters speak in a Southern drawl.

* * *

**Office of the Colonial Magistrate  
****Mar Sara Colony****  
**

The aluminum soda can I held in one hand crumpled like an egg. Carbonated soft drink spilled across my arm and lap. I took no notice of the fluid staining my armored suit.

Captain Elias Tudbury shrank under my glare, even through the face-concealing visor of the helmet I always wore. The pair of colonial marines flanking him on either side remained stoic.

"Let me get this straight, Captain. A news anchor held you at gunpoint and commandeered the _Merrimack_?"

My drawl remained steady and serene.

Former _Universe News Network_ anchor Michael Liberty had joined the Sons of Korhal, that infamous terrorist organization, and broken my men out of the prison barge _Merrimack_. They had yet to reestablish contact with me. I had no idea whether they were caught up the chaos trying to avoid federal retaliation, prisoners of the terrorists, or had deserted Mar Sara in its time of need. For all I know they had already been eaten by xenomorphs.

It was not even my fleet that had captured the _Merrimack_ as it tried to limp out of system. All legal colonial traffic had been grounded. It had been a compassionate "privateer" who generously donated their spoils to me. They had presumably decrypted Confederate transmissions and knew the ship was easy pickings. The prisoners and most of the crew had already left on shuttles before the privateers arrived.

The Sons of Korhal made a big show of offering humanitarian aid to the refugees flooding in and out of my hands. Pure propaganda of the most transparent sort! It was an elaborate ruse by Arcturus Mengsk to claim power over my planet, taking advantage of federal incompetence. I was damned if I let that deranged cult leader hurt my citizens. It was bad enough that idiot Duke was withdrawing federal forces. I did not need the militia and civilian populace turning against me too.

I made a mental note to strangle Duke the next time we met. Assuming that filthy traitor was not eaten by the xenomorphs in the meantime. I would have settled for that too.

Tudbury spewed the typical litany of excuses and lies. One statement stood out to me.

"There was a ghost with him, sir. A Kerry-something."

"Lieutenant Sarah Kerrigan?"

He blinked and nodded.

I froze and thought about it. The existence of ghosts was not common knowledge, though rumors abounded, and the knowledge that rogue ghosts existed was even rarer. Why would the terrorist leader Arcturus Mengsk send his right hand woman, a rogue ghost no less, to Mar Sara and assist a news anchor in busting a random no-name space outlaw from prison?

"Take him out of my sight," I said.

The statuesque marines roughly grabbed the captain and pulled him out of my makeshift office. The automatic door closed behind them with a pneumatic hiss. On the bright side, the _Merrimack_ would be recycled for building materials to fund the defense efforts.

I tapped my keyboard and opened a private channel.

"Magistrate," my adjutant answered automatically.

"Get me the coordinates of all Confederate installations on the planet, classification be damned," I ordered. "I think I know what these terrorists are planning."

* * *

"_Protoss Commander, I am Admiral Alexei Stukov of the United Earth Directorate. You are in direct violation of Terran space and have openly attacked Terran troops. Lower your shields and power down your weapon systems. The UED will be taking custody of your ships and whatever spoils you have garnered from this planet."_

Static hissed from the speakers as I switched to different recording. I would probably have to replace the hardware later.

"_Marshal Raynor, by destroying a vital Confederate installation, you and your men have violated standing colonial law. As of right now, you're all under arrest. I suggest you throw down your weapons and come peaceably."_

"_Are you outta your mind!? If we hadn't burned that damn factory, this entire colony could have been overrun! Maybe if you hadn't taken your sweet time in getting here—"_

Another burst of static.

"_I got your message, Magistrate, and frankly I don't care what you have to say about Confederate regulations. You damn fringe world yokels are all alike, don't know where your loyalties lie. Y'all have a real good day now, y'hear?"_

I replayed the transmissions repeatedly. Things just kept getting worse and worse.

Earth sent humanitarian aid. The truth was that their authoritarian governments felt Koprulu's allegiance to Earth was waning and the Confederacy's growing popularity was threatening their own interests. Somehow. Where did those Earthling assholes get off questioning our loyalty? For two hundred years we loyally stripmined this sector and sent tithes back to Earth, leaving ourselves barely enough as it was. They did nothing for us. They never even sent propaganda. All that mattered to them was the bottom line. Now they attacked us and called it "keeping the peace"?

Then two alien species invaded Koprulu. Not one, but two.

The first was a high and mighty race of space elves flying around in solid gold death stars calling themselves "Protoss" in what few hails they sent us. This they sent after glassing Chau Sara out of the blue and killing millions of innocent people. Most people would consider that an act of war.

The second were vicious insectoid monsters we called "xenomorphs," which is a fancy way of saying "we have no idea what these things are." Initially anyway: at some point they started being identified as "Zerg." I have no idea where the name came from, but it spread like wildfire until the men started using it as a verb. "We're being zerged by zerglings," they'd say.

On Mar Sara, these Zerg seemed to be concentrated in the wastelands and sent raiding forces every so often. I suspected it was only a matter of time until they assaulted Mar Sara City.

I was busy evacuating civilians to safe havens. I declared martial law. Looting and civil disobedience were inevitable. Imagine my surprise when outlaws came out of the woodwork to offer assistance. Even the terrorists and pirates were getting in on the act.

I was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth unless I was a Trojan. I accepted the help, if only because I was happier to sacrifice mangy criminals than loyal hard working marines. I could wait to arrest them when humanity was not in danger of extinction.

My adjutant broke in with her soothing tones.

"The report you requested is ready," she said. "Sixteen outland stations have reported sightings of the alien invaders identified as Zerg. The Confederates have arrested all standing militia forces and continue to avoid action against the Zerg. Three stations have fallen to the Zerg already. We've been unable to locate any source of military relief except…"

She hesitated for a moment. It was an odd behavior of a soulless and mindlessly loyal artificial intelligence to be sure, but she was programmed to pass the Turing test and was trained by machine learning to suit my personality. She and I both knew I would not like what she said next.

She continued, "the extremist faction known as The Sons of Korhal. Their liaison is holding on line."

Said liaison was probably on hold for a while. Maybe hours. I would leave them on hold for eternity before I even considered the possibility of hiring terrorists led by a transparent sociopath. That cult leader clearly just wanted to install himself as Evil Emperor, states' rights be damned. I would not be surprised if he shot lightning from his fingers like a Disney villain. Fortunately, the Confederacy spanned many hundreds of worlds and untold trillions of people, so would-be Evil Emperor Mengsk did not have a snowball's chance in Hell of ever forming his Evil Empire. Maybe he would have better luck in some alternate universe were everything ran on bullshit.

Unfortunately, it seemed I could not even trust my own federal government either. That incompetent moron Edmund Duke imprisoned Marshal Raynor and his men, my men, for loyally following my orders. Not for any of the actual crimes the band of space outlaws was actually responsible for and which I intended to try them for when it was convenient. As indicated by his title of Marshal, Raynor wasn't even an outlaw in the first place. No, Duke imprisoned them for abject loyalty and at the worst possible time.

Their crime? Illegally demolishing Confederate property. Specifically the Backwater station factory. That had alien meat moss growing on it. That was not responding to transmissions. Whose last recorded message consisted of crying for help and screaming in the background before deteriorating into static. That I ordered destroyed because something was clearly wrong with it, as I was well within my right to.

Uh huh. Clearly that was worth arresting my men for.

Did that fucking idiot forget that we were being invaded by vicious flesh-eating aliens?! Arresting militiamen for fucking property damage was a luxury of peacetime! Those filthy evil aliens had clearly commandeered the base and I would burn in God's deepest pit of Hell before I let filthy alien scum steal Confederate technology.

Backwater was not federal property to begin with. It was colonial property. My jurisdiction. The whole of Mar Sara is my jurisdiction.

While I bend over backwards to maintain order, the feds were doing nothing. Nothing besides withdrawing troops from all their bases in the path of the zerg and, among many oddities, launching a nuclear strike on Oasis Station. The reason for these actions they refused to explain to me, despite it being my jurisdiction. Now they openly interfered with my office, the same one they assigned me in the first place.

Duke had no right to go over my head like this. I have been nothing but loyal at the worst point in all of human history, and that asshole wastes everyone's valuable time disrespecting my authority? Disrespecting state's rights?

I had never stepped foot on Mar Sara until a few weeks ago and he had the gall to call me a "fringe world yokel?"

Did he know who I was? Who my family was?

I did not care one whit how many lawyers I would have to hire or how many corrupt politicians I would have to bribe. I was going to destroy Duke's career and future employment prospects forever, even if it killed me.

Fortunately for Duke, I had more pressing matters to attend to. Like saving my fucking planet from being eaten by aliens while that yellow-bellied coward ran away with his tail between his legs.

I have no idea why the top brass insisted on hiring organics for such vital positions. They were vastly inefficient compared to a synthetic. Although I suppose I was biased in their favor, being one myself.

I had hired the best lawyers on Mar Sara on the shortest notice to assemble a legal defense that would exonerate Raynor. My militia needed every warm body I could get. I had hoped I could expedite the proceedings and get the _Merrimack_ in my custody by the end of the week. The damn Sons of Korhal ruined that plan.

I think penal units would be a good use of any remaining windfall. With Chau Sara gone, the surviving prison barges were just sitting there begging me to draft their prisoners. Some of them were frozen, had been frozen for years, so the shock of waking up in the middle of a first contact war was probably going to need some rounds of re-socialization before I sent them into combat. It was never a perfect solution, but it was the best one we had. It staggered my belief that we still maintained prisons as more than temporary measures, but those damn bleeding hearts in the senate kept arguing that re-socialization was a violation of states' rights. What do they expect us to do? Let each state decide to re-socialize on a case-by-case basis? Liberally apply the death penalty? Harvest the prisoners' organs? Those sanctimonious Umojans like to tell that us that our prisons are just rape farms that make criminals into worse criminals. As if letting criminals play video games is a better solution?

I gave an audible sigh. Today was not my day.

I was about to order my adjutant to cut the call when, as if on cue, she interrupted me first. It may very well have been serendipity, though the cynical part of me wondered whether it was a deliberately calculated event. Reality is stranger than fiction.

"Magistrate, I have an incoming transmission from the Protoss flagship, _Gantrithor_... I'll patch it through."

There were protoss troops scattered all over Mar Sara, seemingly occupied primarily with the xenomorphs. Strangely, the protoss did not seem to be attacking any of our troops, at least not unprovoked. I could scarcely believe it at first, but I kept receiving reports of the aliens offering aid in complete contrast to their previously genocidal behavior.

Then they hailed me. Better late than never, I suppose.

I gazed for the first time upon the beings whose ships had destroyed my charge's sister world, and whose forms I had seen only on holos before now. Their fierce eyes, which glowed like molten sapphires (and other gemstones), were the only distinguishable features on their scaled faces. They had no mouths, ears, or noses, only a series of tribal-like, tattooed markings that ran along the harsh ridges of their cheekbones. Their heads were covered with a bonelike plating that bore a striking resemblance to the hydralisk's armored carapace. Long, sinewy appendages flowed out from underneath the warriors' head plates and were fastened together like bands of thick hair that ran down their slightly hunched backs. Their long, armored legs were buckled backward at the knee (at least as the unformed would describe it, anatomically they walked on their toes and that "knee" was an ankle), reminiscent of the cloven-hoofed devils of myth. Their strong, muscled bodies were covered by thin, wet, reptilian skin that was marked with the same strange tattoos as their faces.

Confederate intelligence had been studying them for a while. The individual protoss seemed to display a variety of pigmentation in their eyes, skin, and tattoos. I would hazard to guess that these were their indications of ethnic phenotypes and cultures. They did not seem all that different from humans in that light.

My militiamen had looked upon the Protoss with unabashed awe and terror. These were the destroyers of worlds. These were the executioners of man. These were the dark gods, who had come at last to claim my soul. Or so the poetic part of me imagined.

I was not going to let these filthy alien scum intimidate me.

The speakers produced what sounded like English. It echoed strangely, as though put through a modulation filter. The aliens apparently communicated through telepathy, so that was probably an artifact of translating between their telepathic language and my spoken language.

Or it was an affectation supposed to make them seem more impressive. If that was the case, then I found the distortion more grating than anything else.

"Terran Commander, I am Tassadar, High Templar and Executor of the Protoss Fleet. I come bearing no ill will towards you or your brethren. I have watched your battle with the Zerg and stand ready to aid you in your struggle against them."

The large Protoss held me with his sapphire gaze through the audiovisual feed. At least I perceived this Tassadar as masculine, but with aliens anything was possible.

"Bullshit," I replied. "Do you think me so stupid that I would fall for this transparent deception? I saw what you did. I have the reports."

The Protoss looked surprised at my barely suppressed rage. The gall of this filthy alien scum.

"Don't pretend you don't know. You remember Chau Sara," I said accusingly. "Some of my men were there, who lived through it when your damn fleet burned the planet down to the bedrock."

He lowered his gaze and leaned heavily against something offscreen.

My blood surged at the protoss' apparent moment of weakness. I wisely stayed silent.

After a seeming moment of contemplation, or so I assumed, he lifted his head and looked at me evenly.

"You are correct Terran," he said flatly. "My fleet did burn the world of Chau Sara. Regrettably I was ordered to do so by the Protoss conclave which I serve."

"Your bosses ordered you to wipe out a colony of millions," I hissed incredulously. "You murdered entire families that never once did you or yours the slightest harm. Is that your idea of protection?"

I felt the temperature rising and had to focus to stay calm. My personality bias made this far easier than it would be for an organic.

"You are mistaken," he replied, suddenly defensive. Of course he would be. "The Conclave ordered me to burn the planet because it had been infested by a malignant alien presence. The culling of the Terran colonists was an unfortunate transpiration. Their lives were of little concern to my superiors, many of whom believe that the eradication of the Zerg should be paramount to any other duty. Even our duty to protect the lesser races under our care."

I froze.

Wait, what? Lesser races? Zerg?

Humanity had never encountered any intelligent species before the protoss. For a long time we had considered the possibility unlikely. Koprulu was littered with ruins, sure, but archaeologists were sure the builders had been dead for millions of years. Now I suspect that was very far from the truth. I had thought a galaxy of space faring civilizations was the purview of science fiction. Now I realized it was science fact.

I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts. I would not let this murderer make me look unpresentable.

"You speak of things my species knows nothing about. Explain yourself."

Tassadar straightened and looked up, presumably at the roof of his ship's bridge. The poetic part of my mind imagined he did so as if the stars beyond it were lulling him with some unheard lullaby. With a start he turned back to me.

"There is so much that your people do not understand about the nature of things," he said sadly. "So much I fear that all of your worlds will be consumed by the time you learn. The Zerg are a race of insatiable destroyers who have come from the far reaches of the cosmos. For many generations the Zerg Swarm has ravaged its way across countless worlds striving to accelerate its evolution by incorporating the strongest races that it encounters. Now it has come to claim humanity as its own."

Well, shit.


End file.
